


Senses - Anders and Nathaniel

by Dwarva



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dwarva/pseuds/Dwarva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 drabbles in the world of Anders and Nathaniel focusing on the 5 senses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Senses - Anders and Nathaniel

Nathaniel watches Anders, hands glowing, brow furrowed, concentrating on the silent and badly mangled Grey Warden recruit. He stares as drops of sweat bead on the back of his lovers neck, dampening his robes. He desperately wants to go over and help but knows that it’s all under control. As the recruit takes a sharp and life affirming breath Anders pushes back and the relief on his face is vibrant. The colour Nathaniel hadn’t even noticed had fallen from his skin returns and his own breathing returns to normal. The mage lifts his eyes and catches Nathaniel standing in the doorway with a tight look of concern but curls his lips at the sight of him and knows the reason he’s here and has the strength to do what he does. Why he’s stuck around so long when he’s always chosen to run before. His love is right there.

He sees it.

 

Nathaniel doesn’t laugh often. So when he does Anders takes great joy in it, particularly if he’s the one who’s made him laugh. It’s become a challenge to see how he can raise a smile and have it followed with a laugh or even a low snigger. His favourite is when he catches him off guard with a pithy comment and the rogue can’t help but release an uncontrollable chuckle. He knows few people can make him laugh and that it’s seen by the archer as a moment of unintentional exposure. He only lets a select few people see that part of himself and so the laugh has secretly become a sign of trust.

He hears it.

 

Anders’ clinic smells of wild herbs, elfroot potion and the faintest linger of rock salve that briefly stings Nathaniel’s nostrils. Dropped flasks lay on the floor and the final dregs of liquid ebb slowly out of them until Anders kicks them out of the way to get to his latest patient. Until recently Nathaniel had associated these smells with the ghastly old matron that would come to Amaranthine peddling her copper penny potions and half-baked poisons for hunting. But the smell has become something different. Now it means healing, wellness and life. It means him. When Anders doggedly retreats to their room later that evening the aroma still clings to his robes and to Nathaniel it smells like honey and wine and all things familiar. Like a new home.

He smells it.

 

The best kisses are the stolen ones. The ones where they’ve lain together and are hot and sticky, hair plastered to skin and still breathing hard with the headiness of each other. He breathes in, feeling the cool night air slip down his throat and silently thanks the Maker for his lot in life. Anders pulls the cool sheets over his body and throws his arm up to fall into sleep but Nathaniel pulls him to his chest, sucks his upper lip and forces his tongue into his lovers mouth. The blond man isn’t one to refuse the contact and allows himself to fall into the embrace. Nathaniel smiles into the kiss. He tastes himself on Anders’ mouth and recognises it as a symbol of their bond. 

He tastes it. 

 

The Grenlock never really stood a chance against the archer but its dagger makes a deadly attempt at his exposed side before it crashes to the ground in the arms of its wielder. Nathaniel shudders and holds his arm to his side where a pool of deep red blood starts to grow. He’s aware of it trickling down his britches and pooling at the top of his boots. Hitched breaths and the sound of a dropped bow causes Anders head to turn just in time to see his love fall to the ground and brace himself on his knees. The healer doesn’t remember running over but finds himself crouching over the dark haired man as he writhes on the ground. The light pushes out from Anders’ palms and he rests them on the wound, speaking gentle words to the archer as he inwardly prays to the Maker he’s not entirely sure exists. The glow gets brighter and Anders touch gets softer as he feels the flesh knit together again. He’s afraid to take his hand from the wound and keeps his eyes tightly closed, only opening them when he feels Nathaniel’s hand resting on top of his own. The dark haired man’s bloody fingers lace with his own and Anders finally has the strength to open his eyes and grip him tighter. He’s alive and he knows that the magic was creating a literal bond. With the man he loves. With his heart.

He feels it.


End file.
